7. Charity Case
Charity Case
Sigurd & Valerie
The open-air banquet hall on Mt. Qaf hums with conversation.
A string quartet plays from the balcony above, and golden djinn fixtures cast a soft glow over the long table.
Silver platters of roasted meats crowd the center between crystal decanters of spiced wine.
The temperature has been adjusted for the human guests.
I barely notice it because my mother sits directly across from us.
Solveig holds herself with the same rigid dignity she brings to every formal gathering. Her eyes remain fixed on Valerie. I knew this was coming, yet I still want to end the evening before my mother finds another reason to test her.
The opportunity arrives during a lull in the conversation. Solveig turns slightly toward Valerie. “Tell me, Valerie. What do you make of relationships between humans and monsters? Do you believe they are truly compatible?”
Several delegates nearby fall quiet. My fingers close harder around my glass. She does not owe you an examination. I could answer for Valerie, but doing so would give my mother what she expects. Solveig has already decided a human woman needs me to defend her place here.
Valerie sets her fork down and meets Solveig’s stare without hesitation. “They can be. I don’t think being different species makes a relationship fundamentally different from any other.”
Solveig arches one brow. “The difference in life span alone can span centuries. Then there is physical strength, biology, even the environments in which each species can survive. You consider all of that trivial?”
“No, Madam. Those things matter, but they don’t decide whether two people belong together.
” Valerie keeps her voice calm despite the interest gathering around our end of the table.
“A match doesn’t rely on species. It relies on the people involved and what they feel for each other. In the end, it relies on the heart.”
I relax my grip before the crystal stem cracks between my fingers. Valerie is not dismissing the differences between us. She is looking directly at them and refusing to let my mother decide what they mean.
Solveig opens her mouth to continue. Iris reaches the table first and gives Valerie an encouraging look. “I couldn’t have said it better myself. I’m fairly certain Rakan would object if anyone suggested humans and monsters are incapable of making it work.”
My mother turns toward the bride, and irritation flickers across her face.
There are few customs the djinn treat more seriously than wedding hospitality.
Challenging Iris at her own celebration would insult Rakan.
Even Solveig has no interest in turning a private objection into a diplomatic incident.
Camille joins Iris a moment later with the purposeful look she reserves for impending logistical disasters. “Actually, Madam Solveig, we were hoping you could settle something for us.”
Solveig regards her with immediate suspicion. “What did you need settled?”
“The florist is panicking about the abyssal anemones for the deep-water delegation's tables,” Camille explains. “She insists the traditional varieties won’t hold their shape this far above sea level.”
Iris nods with exaggerated gravity. “Apparently substituting surface flowers would change the symbolism. That seems like something we should know before the reception.”
My mother gives them her full attention. “It would change the symbolism. Abyssal anemones are traditional markers of respect in deep-house protocol.”
Camille leans closer, clearly invested now. “That is what I needed to know. Does the color matter as well? The florist sent three possibilities, and I refuse to discover tomorrow that one of them signifies widowhood.”
For the first time all evening, Solveig looks genuinely appalled. “Of course the color matters. Indigo signifies continuity. Black is reserved for mourning. Who approved a florist who does not know the difference?”
Iris catches Valerie’s eye for the briefest moment. “Then we definitely need your help before someone accidentally gives the wedding a funeral theme.”
Within seconds, Solveig is explaining the proper colors. Camille follows with increasingly specific questions about placement and blooming stage. Neither woman leaves her enough room to return to Valerie. I take a slow drink from my glass and enjoy the sight before setting it down.
“Leave them to the anemones. We’re going to dance.”
Valerie looks up at me, clearly caught off guard. Her gaze flicks toward Solveig, who is now explaining some ancient distinction between petal arrangements. I offer my hand, and Valerie studies it briefly before placing her palm in mine.
“That sounded suspiciously like an order,” she says as I help her to her feet.
“I was trying to move quickly before my mother escaped. I admit that urgency may have affected my delivery.”
“That explanation does improve it.”
Her shoulders relax as I lead her away from the table. The banquet hall has grown more crowded since dinner began. Guests have pushed back their chairs to mingle. Several elaborate trains spill across the stone between us and the dance floor.
“Watch the dress on your left,” I warn as a jeweled length of silk slides across our path.
Valerie steps around it and looks up at me. “I’m beginning to understand why everything here is built on such an enormous scale. Half these guests would destroy a human dining room by turning around.”
“Most of them would struggle with the doors first. Human architecture shows remarkably little foresight.”
“So do dresses with six-foot trains.”
Her dry answer draws a quiet laugh from me. We reach the open space beneath the balcony just as the quartet shifts into a slower piece. Cellos carry the melody beneath long, measured notes from the higher strings.
I turn toward Valerie and place one hand at her waist. She rests her palm against my chest and takes my other hand without hesitation. I draw her closer than the dance requires. Her body stiffens for a moment, then she adjusts to the difference in our height and follows my first step.
The heat of her palm reaches me through my shirt with startling intensity. We have touched often enough over the past two days for casual contact to feel familiar. Moving with her this close against me is something entirely different.
“You are holding me very tightly,” Valerie says after another slow turn. She makes no attempt to move away.
I look down at her and keep my voice low. “Is it too much?”
Valerie stays close and curls her fingers more firmly over my shoulder. “I didn’t ask you to let go.”
The quiet certainty catches me off guard. I keep my hand at her waist and resist the urge to pull her nearer.
“My mother isn’t watching us anymore,” I tell her. “We don’t need to perform for her now.”
Valerie glances past my shoulder toward the banquet table. When she looks back at me, there is no hesitation in her expression. “I know she isn’t watching.”
Neither of us changes the distance between us. On the next turn, Valerie comes closer of her own accord and follows my lead without the stiffness she had at the beginning.
“I’m holding you because I want to,” I say beneath the music. “If that makes you uncomfortable, tell me.”
Valerie studies me as the other couples move around us. “It doesn’t make me uncomfortable. I would tell you if it did.”
Some of the strain across my shoulders releases at the answer. Her cheek nearly brushes my shirt before she tips her face up again. I become acutely aware of how much of her body touches mine.
Finally, the music slows around us. I barely register the couples moving nearby. Valerie remains close with her hand resting over my heart, and the rest of the room becomes easier to ignore.
The last notes stretch across the hall and fade into the night air. Couples begin separating and returning to their tables. Valerie does not move immediately, and I am equally reluctant to create the distance myself.
Several seconds pass before I lower my hand. The loss of contact annoys me more than it should.
Vasili Drachen approaches from the edge of the dance floor before I can decide whether to draw Valerie close again. I see him first, and the ease of the last few minutes disappears.
He stops several feet away and inclines his head toward her. “Forgive the interruption, Miss Priest. I’ve been thinking about our conversation earlier, and I would like to make you a professional offer.”
Valerie turns toward him, still standing close beside me. “You’re offering me a job after one conversation?”
“A position with Lindwurm’s historical research division, if you are interested.
” Vasili speaks with the same measured confidence he showed on the mountain.
“You would have considerable freedom, access to our private collections, and compensation well above municipal scale. I’m not asking you to decide tonight. ”
My entire body goes rigid at the proposal. He has known her for only a few hours. Apparently that is enough time to imagine taking her away from Saltweather and placing her somewhere inside his own empire.
Valerie will make her own decision, and I know better than to speak for her. That knowledge barely tempers the possessive impulse rising in me. Vasili stands three paces away and calmly explains how much more his empire could offer her. I want him gone.
Valerie glances up at me. The slight narrowing of her eyes tells me she has noticed my irritation. She turns back to Vasili before I can say anything less diplomatic.
“It is a very generous offer, Mr. Drachen, but I’m not looking to leave Saltweather.” Her tone remains courteous, with no uncertainty beneath it. “My work matters to me because it belongs there. More money wouldn’t change that.”
Pride cuts cleanly through my irritation. Vasili considers her answer for a moment and inclines his head.
“Then I will respect your decision. Should your circumstances ever change, the invitation will remain open.”
“They are not going to.”